


Anything (Within Reason)

by havisham



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Banter, Fluff, Interruption, M/M, Makeouts, Nude Modeling, Pre-Darkening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-14 02:01:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4545915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fingon is a Elf of many talents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anything (Within Reason)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amyfortuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/gifts).



> Written for the cheesiest fic meme of all time, with the prompt: "You can have me any way you like, baby."

Findekáno's artistic skills were a matter of great debate in the family. Some -- like his cousin Aikanáro -- maintained that he had none. But others, like his aunt Nerdanel, thought him a unique talent. Those were exactly the words she used when she had invited him to an open studio session. She had hired a model and many of her most accomplished students would be there. Findekáno was pleased and flattered by the invitation. He accepted it readily. 

He knew perfectly well that his artistic skills were not very good -- but Findekáno liked making art, liked the physicality of it, the way that his mind would grow quiet when he worked. It was like running a long distance, and it was as invigorating. And besides, he had the satisfaction of writing a note to Aikanáro, telling him that he would not be able to be a fourth at the next Mingling’s session of lawn-tennis. 

Nerdanel’s studio was a huge, cavernous space, filled with bits and pieces of her older projects. the studio was connected to the main house by a narrow path flanked by some of Nerdanel's more ambitious projects.

Findekano was running late -- of course, after he had sent the letter, his mother had come in and asked why he was dressed in those old rags and that had led to a ten minute argument over when Elenwë’s brother’s begetting day was and Turukáno was summoned to clear up the confusion (it was next week) -- and by the time he had able to gather his things and come to Nerdanel’s studio, he saw light blazing out of the windows. It had started without him. 

Findekano slipped in and took a seat in the back. He took out his sketchbook from his satchel. He hadn't picked a very good spot to sit -- his view was blocked by easels and other people, and he could only see a bare expanse of midriff, and legs crossed into the air. Findekáno frowned. For some reason, those legs seemed very familiar. 

He had begun to sketch when Nerdanel called out time, and the model moved again. It was Maitimo, and Findekano nearly pitched forward in his seat. He felt as though there was a white-hot pit in the bottom of his stomach, gobbling up everything in its path -- his balance, his composure, his sanity. 

He scrambled to get up and take his things further up, making some noise as he did so, the sounds of easels scraping against the stone floor. He saw his aunt Nerdanel working on a clay model up front. She waved to him when she caught sight of him. Findekáno finally found a spot near the front and stared at Maitimo. 

Maitimo gave him a perfectly inscrutable look, before he was obliged to change positions again.

But as time went on the hot feeling dissipated and he began to see Maitimo not as his cousin that he ardently desired (though he did), but rather a challenging shape to be captured on paper as well as possible. Proportions were so difficult, when Maitimo was around… 

All too soon, however, Nerdanel called for the final pose. Maitimo lounged on a low-slung divan, his skin gleaming with sweat. He had been standing for most of the evening, and Findekano thought he saw a little quiver of his legs as they stretched out. His hair, which had been covered by a turban earlier, has been shaken loose, down his back.

Findekano sighed so loudly that the girl who sat next to him turned and gave him a sly look. Finally, Nerdanel rose and announced that the open studio closed. She thanked Maitimo for volunteering his services when her regular model failed to appear. Maitimo, who before now had been the picture of languor, sprang up and began to dress. The other artists began to gather their things, talking all the while. 

At first, Findekano was unsure if he should stay and speak to Maitimo, or wait for him outside. He decide on the latter -- it was a lovely night, the sky was silvered and but shadowy, and the scent of night-blooming flowers hung heavy in the air. 

He found his usual haunt -- a nook in one of Nerdanel's more monumental sculptures, curled up there, and promptly fell asleep. He was having the most wonderful dream when he felt someone shaking him awake. He opened his eyes to see Maitimo looking down at him. Maitimo was, disappointingly, dressed now, in light cotton robes that he usually elected to sleep in.

"Finno, haven't you got a home to go to?" 

"Patronizing as always, Nelyafinwë! But at least I haven't forgotten my manners. You did well tonight." 

Maitimo grinned. "Thank you." 

"Why didn't Nerdanel's model come?" 

"Oh, girl trouble, I heard. You know Lanquë -- heartbreak one week, in love the next." 

Findekáno hummed in under his breath and stood up, until he was face to face with Maitimo. When he had been younger, he had nursed some secret hope that he would one day be able to look Maitimo straight in the eye. But it was not to be. Maitimo would always be taller than Findekano, and older -- and ...?

"Did you offer to model in her stead because of me?" 

"Conceited boy," Maitimo said, and kissed him so deeply that Findekano was almost rocked on his feet. Maitimo's arms were wrapped around his waist, his heart beat out rapidly, his stomach burned in anticipation. 

"You did," Findekano managed to say, when they had broken away for air. 

"I did. You can have me any way you like, Findekano." 

Findekano wanted only to kiss him again but reason, slowly but surely, began to trickle back into his brain. "We can't. Not here -- anyone looking out of the the window can see." 

"Can't go to my bedroom, too many creaking steps between here and there." 

"So, should we ...?" 

"Come on," Maitimo said, decidedly. "I know where we can go." 

Findekano was not quite surprised to find himself back in Nerdanel's studio. In the dark, it felt like a completely different place than it had only a short time ago. There was a little light to see by -- most of it came from the little Fëanorian lamps that lined the top of the walls. Maitimo took Findekano’s hand, led him to the divan and pushed him onto it. 

“So,” Findekano said, as he bounced for a moment, listening to the creak of the springs. “How many of your brothers have been conceived on this thing?” 

“Only they know for sure,” said Maitimo, pouncing on him. “But more than one, I'll wager.”

"Well, begetting your pardon," Findekano said blithely, ignoring Maitimo's loud groan, "but did you mean it when you said that I could do anything to you?" 

"Anything ... within reason."

“There’s always some caveat with you -- it’s a pity you weren’t a lawyer.” 

“If I was a lawyer, I would sue you for your slanderous love-talk…”

Findekano laughed. “All right, that’s fair.” He noticed that Maitimo had picked up his sketchbook, and was looking through it. He had even uncapped a larger lamp, to see it more clearly. “Hey!” 

He reached for it, but Maitimo warded him off easily, as if he was a rowdy younger brother. He flipped through the pages, seemingly absorbed with its contents. He lingered long on the last sketch before handing it back. “You should continue it, you know. My mother tells me you have a talent.” 

Findekano fidgeted with the bookmark and said, “I do well enough. Like in music -- I do well enough, but not enough to be called a talent.” He spread out his hands in a gesture of defeat. “Why are we talking about my minor talents at all? We are supposed to be -- well, doing other things.” 

“We can do both,” Maitimo said, placing a soft kiss on Findekano’s forehead. They undressed just enough to touch skin against skin, cock against cock, and the pressure and excitement rose and rose until -- suddenly, the lamps overhead flared bright. 

“Oh -- damn!” Makalaurë shouted, “Couldn’t you have locked the door? We thought someone had broken in!”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my beta, Elleth!


End file.
